Samaritan
by SiriuslyOrion
Summary: Steve Rogers is a widower café owner in a small town. He's content with life, but when he finds a scrawny boy in a rag eating out of his bins his charitable nature kicks in. He takes him into his home to help him, but soon finds that he isn't well at all. He can barely speak or even take care of himself. Steve soon makes it his duty to protect and nurture this damaged person.
1. Good Food

**Chapter 1: Good Food**

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 **Hello, thanks for clicking on this story, I hope you enjoy it :)**

 **This is a concept I've had in my mind for a long time, it was only recently enough that I had it be focused around Steve and Bucky.**

 **Anyone who's come over form my other fic, Inconvenience, thank you for trying out this story too, and I promise the hiatus on it won't be too long.**

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Steve started this Monday the same way he had for the last three years. He slammed his alarm clock silent, showered, dressed and ate breakfast all before 6:00am. He paid his respects to Peggy's picture before heading downstairs to put some buns in the oven. He then kneaded some bread, swept the floor and arranged flowers on every table by the time he turned the sign on the café door so that he read the 'closed' side. He loved the smell of the baking bread in the back, he even left the door open and had a fan waft the scent into the room. The look on customers' faces as they walked in and smelled it was worth more than a tip, though they were still appreciated.

His three members of staff on shift today were all checked in by 8:00am, and each knew what to do while he was in the back, baking some scones. It was nice, the methodical and repetitive patterns that came with baking. It was the same every time, and you only got better with each batch. A timer dinged, telling him that the scones were ready. While they were cooling he went through some the day's post. A few bills, but his subscription to 'Bake' was a far more interesting read.

When the scones were nice and cool, he cut one open and let Angie test it. She deemed the batch good, so it went on display by the register. He then went on to bake a batch of blueberry muffins just as good as the ones he made before.

At 3:00pm he deposited Saturday's earnings in the bank and at 7:00pm he turned the sign on the door so he read the 'open' side, then he dolled out the tips evenly, counted the cash in the register, brought some leftover baked goods to the local homeless shelter and was back home to take out the rubbish before his dinner burned.

Tuesday was very much the same, except he had a different set of three employees in and he baked different goods that day. Wednesday repeated the same process, as did Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Sunday was his day off. He went to church in the afternoon. Despite not being a very pious man he enjoyed listening to the priest's homily, as well as the conversations with the other members of the congregation. People spoke to him with genuine smiles and asked him how he was. He always told them he was 'good', and then he'd tell them that the café was doing well too. He would be invited to have dinner over at someone's home from time to time, and he'd graciously accept, always bringing a tasty batch of muffins, cookies, cakes or scones with him. They always made for a good dessert.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, that was his life, and he was content with it. He fell asleep with his arm draped over Peggy's side of the bed and woke up with it in the same place.

One Saturday night Steve was taking the bags of rubbish out to the alley behind the café as per usual. It was dark and cold this autumn night so he wanted to be quick about it so he could get back inside and have a nice, warm dinner.

He lugged the bags into the large bins and slammed the lid closed. He rubbed his hands together and walked hurriedly back inside, the metal lid had been almost ice cold. It was when he was in his room, changing into his more comfortable clothes that he noticed something amiss. As he clapped his hand onto the underside of his left wrist he immediately noticed that the watch he always wore out was suddenly not there. He frowned. He really didn't want to think that watch was gone for good, it had been a gift from his in-laws the day before his and Peggy's wedding. He thought back, remembering that he'd checked the time in the bank and had adjusted the long hand by a minute. He'd been asked the time by a volunteer in the shelter, which he gave, accurate to the minute.

The bins were the last option, unless he'd lost it on the way from the shelter to home. He sighed, slipping on his plimsolls and a long coat over his comfy clothes. He went back out into the alley, hoping that it'd be lying next to the bins, or at least in with the bags. That's what he'd hoped to see, but what he saw instead was much more out of the ordinary.

A boy, no taller than 5'5" was huddled against the bins, a stale muffin in each hand, both of which he was drooling over. That wasn't the most peculiar thing about him. His brown hair was matted beyond reason, he was wearing a grey gown, that definitely wasn't its original colour, and he was barefoot, his soles looking to be blackened from this angle.

"Hello?" Steve said, forgetting about his watch for a moment. The boy's brown eyes widened at him. He froze like a deer in the headlights, dropping the muffins. He stood to full height, which was barely up to Steve's chest, with his hands twitching by his sides, his eyes darting left and right. He took a step back. "Wait!" Steve declared, stepping forward with his arm outstretched. That was the wrong move to make. The boy darted away, grunting as he exerted his shaky legs.

Steve tried to follow, but his coat got caught on a jagged piece of metal jutting out of one of the bins. In the second he took to look down and free it, the boy was out of sight. Steve looked down the other end of the alley and left and right down the street, but there was no sign of him anywhere. He sighed, thinking about the boy and how hungry he looked, how filthy and in sorry need of a bath he was.

He didn't find his watch, it wasn't in the bins or the alley. The only thing he had to show for his efforts was a nasty tear in his coat that he'd need to stitch up. He decided to cut his losses for the night and hope that some good Samaritan would turn it over to the police if they found it. It had value beyond his sentiments, but he wanted it for the ties to Peggy and her family.

That night his steak pie didn't taste as good as it usually did. His mind was too preoccupied with thought of that boy who, now that he thought about it, was probably homeless. Or at the very least, he was just lost. Either way he regretted not being able to help him. He knew that Peg would've been better for the task, she wouldn't have scared him away, she would've spoken gently and calmly, coaxing him over to her warm embrace. Then she would've taken him inside, given him something warm to wear and put good food in his belly.

When his thoughts weren't of the boy they went to the watch. That made him feel guilt more than anything. He made a mental note to put the pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Carter next to Peggy's in the morning, hopefully they'd find a way to get that watch back to him from the other side.

He wondered if he should go to the police with what he saw, about the boy that is. Surely they'd get a better grasp of the situation than he would. They could more easily find the boy and make sure he'd go somewhere safe. Would they bring him home? He thought about that, and if that boy had been willing to run away and scavenge from rubbish bins then it mustn't have been much of a home to begin with. Still, there were places for children like that, hostels and shelters that would take care of him until someone could welcome him to their home.

The following day, Steve didn't go to the police. He did go to church as usual and prayed with the rest for good things to happen to them and the ones they cared about. He also prayed for the boy, for him to find somewhere safe and warm to spend his nights, somewhere he could get good, warm food and a soft bed. He hastily added a caveat for him to find his watch soon before he blessed himself out of the prayer.

He was invited to dinner again that night, but he politely declined, feigning an upset stomach. As he walked to the homeless shelter he hoped that little fib wouldn't make anyone think worse of the café's food. He did well enough for himself but he knew that losing patronage could only be a bad thing.

He walked into the shelter and was greeted with smiles by a few volunteers, as well as a few of the guests. He quickly spotted the woman he was looking for.

"Miriam!" He called with a smile, beckoning the older woman.

"Steven Rogers." She said with raised eyebrows. "I expected to see you around here, despite it being Sunday."

He quirked his head to the side, a wondering and confused smile on his face. He rarely came to the shelter on a Sunday, he was predictable that way. He came Monday to Saturday, that was the routine. His curiosity evaporated when the matron snaked her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out something he'd been sore to see. "My watch!" He declared, holding out his open palm.

"Yes, your watch." She said severely. "It was found not far from here by Terry over there." She gestured behind Steve to a young boy, about sixteen or seventeen, wearing a coat a size too big with dirty blond hair and a shadow of stubble on his jaw. He saw Steve looking and quirked an eyebrow. He held up his watch with a smile, nodding to him. The boy nodded back, then he looked down again. "The clasp is broken. I tried my hand to fix it but I'm no watchmaker, you'll need an artisan."

"Thank you Miriam, really, it means a lot. And tell Terry that he can come to the café sometime and have this watch's value in food." He chuckled, ran his thumb over the watch face and put it in his pocket, making a note to keep checking it was there. "But I actually came for another reason."

"Oh?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah," He thought of the boy again, he looked colder and more feeble now than when he last pictured him. "I was wondering if you'd seen a kid come in here? Young, about 5'5", brown eyes and matted brown hair. Probably wearing an old, grey gown?" He asked, trying to sound vague and hypothetical despite his description being anything but.

Miriam's brows furrowed in thought. "I can't say I have. I could always ask around, see if any of the other volunteers have seen him. If that doesn't work I can ask the guests, they all have their own Sherlockian network of eyes about the place." She smiled at him. "Why the concern? Someone you know?"

Steve shook his head. "Just caught someone eating out of my bins last night, and I'd rather he have some of your broth than my stale cakes."

She nodded knowingly. "I'll keep an eye and ear out, but don't worry yourself about it, he'll turn up at this shelter sooner or later."

"Thank you." They hugged, and he left, making the familiar walk home, only this time he didn't have the usual chipper demeanour of someone who just gave to the needy. He was happy to have the watch back, that was for certain, but it seemed a rather small blessing when a child was still out there, more than likely cold, hungry and hurt. He just hoped that things would turn out okay for him.

As soon as he got home he placed the watch in front of the picture of Harrison Carter. "Thanks Pop." He said, getting out the L through Z yellow pages and looking for a local watchmaker to get that clasp fixed. He found one that was close enough, called them and asked about the clasp. By the time he hung up the landline they were expecting him to drop the watch in on Monday morning, and he'd collect it in the evening.

He didn't really know what to do with himself at the moment, he usually had dinner around someone else's on a Sunday, but if he didn't it was always because he had something else planned. Maybe he should just order some food, it's been quite a while since he'd done that. Then he thought better of it. He'd have to pay for the clasp to be fixed, he didn't need to add unnecessary expense on top of that.

"Another time." He promised himself.

Instead he did what he always did when he had nothing better to do; he baked. Belgian chocolate cookies this time, wonderful to smell, even better to taste. He only had one for himself, then he wrapped another for later and put the rest in a plastic lunch box. Then an idea came to mind. He didn't want that boy eating stale cakes or muffins out of his rubbish, so what if he gave him fresh cookies instead. With a grin he slipped on his plimsolls and made his way to the alley behind the café. He made sure the boy wasn't there first, then he slowly and deliberately lifted the lid off one of the bins and place the lunch box on last night's bag of rubbish.

He debated whether or not he should wait just around the corner and catch the boy in the act. He decided not, instead going back inside and reading a book to try and get his mind off things. He had his second cookie after dinner, a nice pork chop with beef gravy and mashed potatoes, and then went back to his book.

It was as he was turning a page that he heard a metal clatter outside. Not an atypical sound, it was one he'd usually ignore and chalk up to some kids running through the alleys, but a nagging instinct told him that it was something else. So, on went the plimsols and his coat. He found himself turning into that alley more times than usual recently, but this time the sight that greeted him made him smile. The lid of the bin he put the cookies in was haphazardly strewn to the side, and as he approached it he saw that his plastic tub had been opened and over half of the cookies inside were missing.

He looked around again, just to see if there were any other signs that this was in fact his homeless boy and not some conniving tomcat who knew how lids worked. He found a sign, but it was one that made him scowl. That bit of metal jutting out of one of the bins, the very same one that had torn his coat the previous night, had apparently caught something else not a moment before.

Steve kneeled down, reluctant to just touch the thing and risk tetanus. He gently pulled at the reddened strip of cloth that hung to it. Parts of it were still that discoloured grey but most had been soaked by the blood. His stomach turned. Not only did that boy need to deal with the cold in what he now knew was a thin, flimsy gown, he also needed to nurse a no doubt painful cut. His only comfort was the fact that he knew the boy had at least some nice food in his belly. It was far from healthy but from what he'd seen of him that boy could stand to put on a couple of pounds.

As he was about to turn away, a glint of red caught Steve's eye. A drop of blood had splattered on the bin's lid, then there was another one only a few metres away. He was somewhat relieved to see that the drops weren't too big, and the trail was rather sparse. That meant his cut couldn't be too deep.

His eyes were glued to the ground, scanning the brick pavement for any drop of red. It was hard this time of day, his only light came from the street lamps up above but that didn't spill very far into an alley like this.

Steve growled in frustration when he realised he'd completely lost the trail. It had led him to the other end of the alley, around a corner and a few paces down the street to the left, but now there was nothing except the humming of the lamp posts overhead.

He didn't sleep easily that night, he was too worried about the boy, his health and his cut. For the first time in quite some time, he wanted to sleep in on a Monday. He didn't though and went about his routine as per usual, aside from the dropping off and picking up of his watch from the watchmaker. He decided to put out more food for the boy again tonight, this time a pair of blueberry muffins, warm and moist. He had to put them in a different box this time, one with clips on the sides instead of a pull-off lid.

When he went out to the alley this time he brought three extra things with him. The first was one of Peg's old hand mirrors. If the boy showed up again tonight he wanted to make sure he was at least able to walk straight, perhaps even get him inside and out of this god awful cold. He was wearing three layers and he was still feeling its nip. The second item was the other lunch box. This one had three more muffins stuffed inside, only one of which was for himself. The third item was a pair of pliers, which he used to turn that jut of metal inwards so it wouldn't snag anymore coats or cut anymore homeless boys in flimsy frocks.

He waited around the corner, only a few metres from the café's door, holding the mirror at just the right angle so he could have a clear visual of the bins without being in plain sight. He was standing there for a while, long after he went inside to put on a fourth layer, long after the street lights started their humming, and long after he was grateful he'd decided to wear his wellingtons instead of his plimsols.

He was nearly ready to call it a night and go back inside when he saw it, a shadow moving slowly into the alley. Steve couldn't help but grin. The boy was as small, dirty and skinny as he was when he'd last seen him. Hell, he even had dried blood running drops down his left leg, which was dragging behind a little as he walked.

Steve decided to observe a little more before making his presence known, wanting the boy to at least eat the food first if he decided to run away again. He watched as the boy took the lid off the bin. He was slow and careful while doing it, no doubt not wanting a repeat of last night's orchestra. He reached into the bin and took out the lunch box, fumbling with the clips for a minute before finally opening it. Steve could hear his stomach rumble even from where he was standing and smiled as he watched the boy scarf down his baked goods. When he was done he put the box and lid back in the bin and turned around again.

Steve decided to make himself known.

"Ahem." The boy jumped nearly a foot in the air, his feet slipping from under him. His rear hit the ground with a _thump._ He turned quickly around, trying to crawl backwards away from the tall man approaching him. "It's okay, it's okay." Steve said in the most soothing and caring voice he could muster. It must've had some iota of effectiveness because the boy stopped trying to crawl away. Instead he just sat there, trembling with tears brimming his eyes.

Steve got to his knees, barely a metre from where the boy was. From this perspective he could see that that gown was the only piece of clothing the boy had to his name, he had not even a skimpy pair of briefs to preserve his modesty underneath that dreadful garment. He held out the other lunch box, showing him the other muffins inside. "Here." He whispered. "It's yours."

The boy looked fearful above all else, as if Steve were a bogeyman of sorts waiting to devour him. He did move though, he moved forward to kneel in front of Steve, reached out and took one of the two remaining muffins from the box. He held the treat to his chest, as if it were about to jump out of his hands and back into the box of its own accord.

"You can eat it." Steve encouraged, hoping he wouldn't do a runner. He could more than likely catch up to him if he did, especially if that limp was genuine.

The boy raised the muffin to his mouth and bit into it. He looked at Steve, almost as if to ask that this was okay. He nodded, and the boy devoured it as if it were his last meal on God's Earth. Steve held the second one out to him, but not within his arm's reach. He'd need to move forward if he wanted it. He looked apprehensive, as if Steve was the bogeyman again, but the moan his belly let out gave away his need.

He shuffled forward on his knees, nearly dragging the gown down his front. When he was within arm's reach Steve handed the muffin to him, which he began eating with unblemished vigour. Steve ghosted his fingertips across the back of the boy's hand, a touch he barely acknowledged as he wolfed down his food.

"What's your name?" Steve asked in an almost-whisper, not wanting to startle him.

He didn't answer, instead his eyes darted to and fro, unsure what to do with his now empty hands.

"My name is Steve Rogers." Steve said, edging an inch closer to the boy who seemed almost too scared to breathe. "Where do you live?" Again, his question went unanswered. "Do you have somewhere to go?" The boy looked at Steve this time, not in the eye, but just at him. He shook his head, looking distraught. "Do you want to come with me?" The boy's eyes widened, he started to tremble again. Steve held out his hand, hoping the boy would take it with all his heart.

"You'll be safe, I'll give you warm clothes and a bed, and you can have food like this every day." Steve reached out a little farther. The boy didn't move away, but he looked at the hand as if it were a weapon aimed at his throat. He reached out with one of his own crumb-dusted hands and held it only inches over Steve's.

The man didn't make a move to close the distance, he let the boy do it at his own pace. When their palms met Steve smiled despite the fact that the boy's was cold, clammy and trembling. He moved to stand, keeping the boy's hand clasped in his.

The smaller one tried to stand too, but his foot slipped from under him and he was grounded again. Steve looked at his feet. The soles were blackened and coated in dried blood. There looked to be blisters on nearly every toe as well. He looked at the boy with pity in his eyes. He knew walking, let alone running, must've been a torturous chore on feet like those.

Steve let go of the boy's hand and for a second he looked panicked, as if he had done something he knew wasn't allowed and was about to be punished for it. Steve then held both of his arms out. The boy's look of panic disappeared and one of confusion replaced it.

"I'll carry you." Steve said, putting on the most reassuring smile he had. The boy lifted his own arms, shaking even more than before. Steve lifted the boy by his armpits with surprising ease. He was concerned with how light he was, even when you considered how small and thin he was. Hell, now that he was up close and personal with him he saw that the boy was even shorter than he originally thought.

He didn't smell good at all, but Steve didn't care about that. He was only worried about getting him inside and out of the cold. He realised now that much of his shivering and trembling was probably due to the autumn weather just as much as fear. The boy practically curled into Steve, no doubt trying to soak up as much body heat as possible. Steve held him on his hip with one hand supporting his rump and the other rubbing up and down his back.

"Let's get you inside."

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 **Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoyed my writing and the premise of the story.**  
 **Please leave a review, favourite and follow, and if you've read this and Inconvenience please tell me how the writing compares in both, thank you :)**


	2. A Good Washing

**Chapter 2: A Good Washing**

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The boy noticeably relaxed against Steve when they were both out of the cold but he remained trembling. Steve went right upstairs to his apartment, then to his bathroom. He put down the toilet seat and sat the boy down on it as gently as he could. He smiled at him, but the boy was hugging his frame and looking around as if someone was about to jump out at him. Steve put his hands on his shoulders, making the boy look him in the eye.

"I'll be back in a minute, I'm just getting a couple of things to help your cuts." He smiled again, but the boy didn't give one back. When he walked into the bathroom with the medical kit in hand and three of his four layers gone, the boy hadn't moved from his seat, not even a single muscle. "You cut yourself on a piece of metal yesterday, right?" He asked, pulling over the bathmat and kneeling on it. The boy nodded. "Can you show me where?" Steve could tell exactly where it was because of the tear and bloodstain but he wanted the boy to feel like he had some power in the situation, even if it was something so trivial.

The boy looked down at his left leg then he flicked his eyes to look at Steve. Steve nodded and grabbed the hem of the gown, pulling it up his legs, out from under his rear and over his hips. The boy seemed unabashed at having his parts shown off like that, but that only made Steve's job all the easier since the boy would be having a bath before long.

"Would you mind holding it in place for me?" Steve asked, gesturing to the pooled gown in his fist. The boy nodded, taking it with both hands and pulling it up a little higher. Steve smiled in thanks, but inwardly he was fuming at how skinny the boy was. He couldn't see them at the moment but if Steve were a betting man he would've bet everything he owned that he'd be able to count his ribs if he saw them.

He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. He looked at the cut on the side of the boy's upper left thigh. The fact that he'd been sleeping in the streets made Steve worry that it might've been infected, but there was neither redness around it or a build up of pus, so he was being cautiously optimistic for now.

"This next part is going to sting I'm afraid." He said, gently patting the boy's knee. He then doused a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol from the kit and swabbed it along the length of the scabbed cut. He heard the boy whimper and felt him flinch, but beyond that he didn't move or try to make him stop. He then made a mental note to bandage it after the bath.

"You can let go of this now." Steve said, lightly tapping the back of his hands. The gown fell and pooled on his lap. "Are you okay with taking a bath?" Steve asked, gesturing to the avocado green tub behind him. The boy's head snapped to look at the tub with widened eyes. He looked at Steve, gulped and slowly nodded. Steve thought that both curious and mildly concerning.

"Are you sure?" If the boy was scared of taking a bath he didn't want to force him into it. If need be he could always get a stool in the tub and let him have a shower, or even a bucket of warm, soapy water and a wash cloth if that was too much. He nodded again. Steve didn't press it any further. Maybe he was reading too much into the boy's expressions.

Steve turned the fossettes on and waited for the tub to fill with enough water for a bath. He turned to the boy and rubbed the back of his head. Steve knew that the boy wouldn't be too embarrassed about being bathed by another male, but Steve grew up in a catholic home where a degree of modesty was considered a bit of a virtue.

"Are you okay with me taking this off?" He asked the boy, taking a bit of the gown in his fist. He nodded once more, even lifting his arms in the air to help with the process. Steve nodded and removed the boy's only clothing, tossing it aside.

" _It looks to be more fit for the bin than a wardrobe."_ He thought, trying to recall if he had any clothes that would fit a person a foot shorter than him. He was right, he could count the boy's ribs easily. He was also right in thinking that the boy wouldn't be modest, as he made no attempt to cover himself.

When the bath was full enough he stopped the taps and took the boy into his arms again to test the temperature.

"Just dip your hand in for a second." Steve coaxed. The boy did, and immediately withdrew it again, shaking drops of water off. "Too hot." Steve stated. He set the boy on the floor, drained the tub a bit and refilled it with cold water. It was well received this time, so he set the boy in the tepid bath.

Steve looked forlornly at the boy's feet knowing that they'd need to be washed and that it would be painful for him. "I'm going to clean these now." He said, taking a washcloth in his hand.

He started with the side and heard no protests from the boy, but it was a different story when he started wiping down the sole. Whimpers and grunts filled the room as the dirt, grime and dry blood was wiped into the bath water, yet the boy never tried to make Steve stop. When the first foot was done Steve turned to him, cupped his cheek and told him that he was doing good. The second one didn't go by any quicker and without any less pain but the boy took it just as well.

"You did very well," Steve said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "but I'm going to rub some alcohol onto them too, just to make sure they don't get any worse." The boy didn't respond, but the look in his eye, one that knew that there was going to be more pain, was enough to tell Steve that he knew what was going to happen. Even so, he didn't put up any form of protest.

Steve doused another cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and dabbed it on the cuts, scrapes and blisters on the boy's soles. The cries and whimpers he heard broke his heart, but he knew he had to finish it, else he'd be risking infection. As Steve dabbed at a blister on the inside of the boy's right big toe he felt his hands clasp onto his bare upper arm, squeezing it tight to no doubt try and relieve some of the agonising sting.

Steve let out a relieved breath when he was done. His heart churned when he turned to face the boy, who had a few tears trailing down his pained face. Steve cupped a cheek again and wiped away a tear with his thumb.

"You did very well." He said, trying to sound as praising as he could. "That was the hard part, the rest of the bath will be good, okay?"

The boy nodded, awkwardly pulling at his fingers.

Steve got a fresh washcloth, doused it in soap and held it out to the boy. "Why don't you start giving yourself a rub down with this, I'll be back in just a minute, kay?"

The boy nodded again and took the cloth, doing as Steve said and began to clean himself. Trusting the boy not to drown himself, he went to get a couple of towels out of the airing cupboard. They were already a bit warm from being so close to the hot water tank, but he decided to put them in the dryer for a few minutes so that the boy would have a nice, toasty cocoon to drape himself in. He smiled, remembering when Peggy would do the same thing for him after he jumped in the shower. He'd do the same for her of course, but she was the one who started the tradition.

He came back to the boy wiping the cloth up and down his arms, yet most of him remained dirty. "Would you like me to do it?" He asked, kneeling by the tub once again and holding out his hand. The boy looked at the cloth, then to him, then back to the cloth again, finally handing it to Steve.

He started by finishing cleaning the boy's arms, and when he went over his hairless underarms he let out a giggle, a giggle so light, fluttery and warm that it almost made Steve's heart leap. He blushed a bit, recalling that only Peggy had ever been able to make him feel like that with just a laugh.

Steve went over the armpit again, relishing in that little giggle. It was the kind of sound someone like this boy was supposed to make, a sound so innocent and pure. Then Steve actually looked at the boy's armpit. He frowned, noticing many tiny black dots, as if it had been shaved not too long ago. This boy didn't seem like the type to shave his own armpit. Hell, he could barely even wash himself properly and as far as Steve knew, he couldn't even speak. Then he looked to his crotch and noticed how it too was hairless. He could tell that by his size and dropped testicles that the boy was definitely post-pubescent, and those black dots that came with re-growing hair dotted the area, which meant that someone had been shaving him.

" _Who on earth would do that?"_ Steve wondered. _"The same kind of person who would starve him and dress him in nothing but a flimsy gown!"_ He looked the boy right in the eye, wondering what exactly he had been through, what kind of people he had been around and what they could've done to him.

He pushed those questions aside for the moment and focused on cleaning. After his arms he wiped down the boy's face, chest, belly and then down his legs. What concerned Steve the most was that he didn't squirm, or even flinch, when he ran the cloth up the inside of his thigh, or even when it grazed one of his balls. Disturbing thoughts began to run Steve's mind, ones where the reason this boy didn't flinch when being touched there was because he was too used to it for it to matter, where he was shaven and starved to keep him looking younger than he actually was. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts back with the other ones.

The boy's front had been cleaned as thoroughly as Steve was willing to clean it. "Would you mind facing away from me, I need to clean your back too." He said, putting on a smile that in no way reflected how he really felt.

He obeyed without protest, as usual, but Steve almost wished he didn't. The boy was kneeling away from him, so he could see everything from his shoulder blades down to his calves. It was all marked with little red streaks, mostly on his bubbly rear end and upper back, but there were some marks down his thighs and calves too, though not many. He put his hand on the boy's back and ran his thumb over one of the marks. It was almost like an indent, but he could tell that it was a welt, a badly healed cut lashed on by a belt or a thick strap. Most of them were faded, but there were a few that still stuck out and made Steve flair with rage. With every passing second he began to understand more and more why this boy ran away from wherever he was before. If he had been beaten, starved and possibly molested, it was no wonder the grey streets seemed more appealing.

Steve, as gently and as smoothly as possible, washed the boy's back, rear end and legs without a hint of complaint from the other.

"Look at your hair, it's a great big mess, isn't it?" Steve asked jovially, trying to thread his fingers through the brown locks but stopped when he heard a distressed squeak from the boy. "My wife's hair used to get easily knotted and matted too." Steve said, thinking about how this boy and Peggy's hair looked rather similar. "I watched her spend hours trying to undo the day's wear and tear right over this very bathtub. I guess that was a blessing in disguise, for me at least, otherwise I'd have no idea how to help you aside from cutting it all off." He chuckled, enjoying reminiscing about Peggy.

He started by dampening the boy's hair with the wringed out cloth, and then spent a few minutes massaging some of his conditioner into the boy's scalp. Steve could swear he heard the boy purring at one point. Steve would have been content to let the silence linger between them, the boy looked so happy and relaxed the way he was, it was almost a shame to interrupt it.

"So, maybe now that we know each other a little better, do you think you could tell me your name?" He hoped the question wouldn't send the boy into a secluded state, he was tired of thinking of him as "the boy" and wanted to be able to call him something proper.

The boy turned his head to look at Steve. His mouth opened just a little, then closed again, then opened again.

"B-B-Bucky." He said, looking forward again. His voice sounded raspy and unused and was smaller than Bucky himself.

Steve grinned. "Bucky. It's a nice name."

Steve let the conditioner soak in Bucky's hair for a while longer before fetching his comb. He threaded it through Bucky's hair, pulling out the knots and matted patches with relative ease. He stopped when he was able to run his finger's through his hair without any resistance.

"Look at you, all nice and clean." Steve cooed, goading Bucky to stand up. He had the boy sit dripping on the toilet seat as he drained the bath and washed the dirt and grime Bucky left behind down the drain. Steve then had him stand in the tub again to be washed down with warm water from the showerhead. "Are your feet feeling any better?" Steve asked, pointing to them. Bucky nodded, and seemed content to stand naked on the bathmat as Steve went to fetch the warm towels from the dryer.

Steve draped the larger one around Bucky's shoulders and he hugged it into himself, almost making Steve's heart stop with how adorable he found it. He made sure Bucky was as swaddled as the towel would allow before taking him into his arms again. Bucky seemed to trust Steve more than the last time he was in the man's arms, as shown when he nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Steve took him into the spare room at the end of the hall and placed him on the bed that was lengthwise along the window looking out into the street. The boy sat happily on the larger towel as Steve used the second one to rub him dry.

"Are you…ready?" Bucky asked, surprising Steve as he folded up both of the towels.

"Ready for what, Bucky?" Steve replied, confused as to what Bucky could be talking about. The boy didn't speak. Instead he got on all fours on the bed, his rear facing Steve.

"Ready for fuck?" His voice was genuinely curious and wondering, as if he had not just asked something of Steve that the man wouldn't have expected in one-thousand years.

Steve's eyes widened. It was his turn to be frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He didn't even know how to respond. His worst possible suspicions about Bucky's origin were coming true.

"N-no!" Steve belted out, looking at Bucky with a deep scowl. The boy immediately sat down again and backed against the window, a fearful look etched onto his face. Guilt wracked through Steve immediately. He didn't mean to scare him, but the question and its implication just caught him so off guard that he couldn't help but respond that way.

"I mean…" He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Bucky to come closer. The boy looked at the hand as if it were going to whip out at him yet he crawled towards Steve anyway, sitting on his heels when he was right next to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, Bucky," Steve said gently, wanting the boy to know that he wasn't angry or annoyed. "but can you tell me why you thought I'd want to do that? To fuh, to fuh-" Steve couldn't get the word out, he had never described love-making that way before, because that's what he viewed it as; showing your love and appreciation to the person who meant the most to you, and that wasn't just his catholic upbringing talking, it was a belief that was embedded deep into his very person.

"Fuck?" Bucky finished, quirking his head to the side, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

" _Perhaps to him, it is normal."_ Steve thought ruefully. In fact, all the pieces of Bucky that he'd gotten together in this short amount of time added up to something that made his stomach churn by the mere thought. The obvious starvation, the cheap garment, the shaven hair, the expectation to be fucked, his general fearfulness and initial reluctance to approach Steve, and his tolerance for pain all told a grim and unfortunate tale.

"A sex slave." Steve whispered, barely audible to even Bucky, who wasn't even a foot away.

It all made sense, that was why he ran away, even if Bucky didn't completely understand his previous situation he knew well enough to be fearful of it. How long had he been in such a place though? Steve looked at Bucky again, he tried to picture more body hair and a bit more meat on his bones. If his starvation _had_ lead to a stunted growth then it would be reasonable to assume that he was short even for his young age. Steve could only guess that he had to be at least in his mid-teens, at least fifteen or sixteen.

"Bucky, how old are you?" He asked, putting on a kind smile and a gentle tone.

Bucky looked up, his brows knitted together in concentration. Steve saw him tap the fingers of one hand as his lips mouthed out silent numbers. He looked at Steve, held up ten fingers and said; "Ten," Then he closed both hands into fists and held them all up again. "ten," His brows knitted together again, he clenched both hands and, with a smile, held up one last finger. "one!"

"Twenty-one?" Steve asked, barely believing what he was hearing. If Bucky's word could be trusted, and he wasn't yet sure it could, then it meant that this person who looked more like to be an underfed tween was actually three years over the drinking age.

The boy, no, the other man nodded resolutely, as if his age was one of the indisputable facts of life.

"Okay, you're twenty-one. Well, I'm thirty-four, thirteen years older than you." He bopped Bucky on the nose with the last word, confusing him for a second before he smiled at Steve. "Come on, I'll find you something to wear and then we'll go downstairs and have dinner, okay?" Bucky nodded, his face lighting up at the mention of food.

The fact that he was so delighted at being given food made Steve's heart ache again. It was obviously something he didn't get enough of before.

After bandaging Bucky's nasty cut and rummaging through his drawers, Steve managed to find a Union Jack t-shirt he bought at a tourist stand an age ago, which while a tight fit on him still slipped down one of Bucky's shoulders and covered him down to mid-thigh. He also found a pair of black briefs in the back of his drawer that had long been too uncomfortable to wear yet hung off of Bucky's hips much like his boxers once hung off Peggy's.

He sighed, wishing he had better fitting clothes for Bucky yet was satisfied that he was out of that gown. At least now he looked moderately happy.

Bucky's feet were still sore to stand on so Steve carried him down the stairs too and put him in a seat at the table. He prepared a dinner of buttery mash, carrots and peas, and bacon, two pieces for him and one for Bucky, with more left over waiting if he was still hungry afterwards. All to be washed down by a cold glass of milk.

As soon as the plate was in front of him, Bucky ignored the cutlery provided and tried to scoop some mash into his mouth with his bare hand. Steve caught his wrist before he could, and he immediately looked down as if Steve had just harshly scolded him.

"Like this." Steve advised, demonstrating using his fork to scoop the mashed potatoes into his mouth. Bucky copied, seemingly relieved that he was allowed to eat the food put in front of him at all.

It turns out Bucky was entirely unfamiliar with how to use a knife and fork, so Steve spent the next twenty minutes on how to do exactly that, with generally acceptable results.

" _He'll get it in time."_ Steve thought, glad that their dessert of chocolate chip brioche didn't require the subtle intricacies of middle-class cutlery expertise. God forbid he made ice-cream and also needed to pass on the knowledge of the spoon. _"Heaven save me the day he learns of the spork."_ Steve chuckled to himself as he put the leftovers in the fridge, recalling how Peggy once stabbed her own tongue with a spork thinking it was just a regular old spoon. He never let her live it down. He still had the metal spork he got her for their fourth anniversary in the cutlery drawer, never to be used again.

When he was done he took Bucky back upstairs and asked him if he was tired. He was and leaned his head into Steve's neck to show it. Steve lay him down on the spare bed again and told him that if he needed anything that he'd be in his own room, and not to hesitate to go to him if something was wrong.

He was about to make his leave, he had a good book to read, but he stopped when he felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked down on Bucky with a smile.

"Something the matter?" He asked, crouching down to his level.

"C-can I?" He asked, his hands going to his groin and cupping himself. Steve blushed, thinking he wanted permission to masturbate. As a widower, workaholic and a singleton, Steve wasn't a stranger to the act, but he didn't do it too often and he always put the good book in a different room if he did, a habit born of his upbringing in a catholic household.

Despite that, he didn't see a reason to refuse Bucky the right, he clearly didn't have the same doctrine drilled into him growing up, and as a result was much less modest. The invitation to sex earlier certainly proved that.

He nodded, and Bucky smiled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and putting his arms up to Steve. He was confused. Did Bucky want to do such a thing in his company, or expect him to watch? It wouldn't be the most outlandish thing he'd been observed to do, so, despite his thoughts on the matter, Steve picked Bucky up, and the boy looked at him expectantly.

"Can I?" He asked again, looking down the hall and into the bathroom.

Steve nearly smacked himself. Of course, he was asking to use the toilet, not to masturbate, certainly not to masturbate in front of Steve. He chuckled at himself, making Bucky look at him like he had done something himself that was laughable.

Steve shook his head. "I was just being a bit of an idiot, Buck, ignore me." He took him into the bathroom and sat him on the seat. As he turned to give him some privacy, frankly a hollow gesture at this point, he saw Bucky's discarded gown right where he had thrown it earlier on. That reminded him, he had left his lunch boxes and pliers out in the alley. He decided that he'd bring the gown out to the bins and collect them then once Bucky was tucked into bed.

It was as he was slipping on his plimsols and coat that he noticed a tag on the inside of the gown. It had a faded crest on it, but when he squinted he could kinda make it out. It looked to be some sort of red skull with six tentacles curling away from it. He then mumbled the words next to the crest.

"Hydra Homes."

* * *

 **Hey, if you're reading this: thank you so much, I hope you're enjoying the story so far.**

 **But please, let me know what you thought of the chapter, about Steve and Bucky's characters, and the interactions between the two. Let me know how you'd feel about more explicit material later on too, I'm genuinely curious.**  
 **Anyway, ciao for now :)**


	3. A Good Lesson

**Chapter 3: A Good Lesson**

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 **To Nobody's Love: Yeah, Bucky's in a right state. Hope this update is worth the wait :)**

* * *

'Hydra Homes' was a very curious name, Steve thought. He went straight to the yellow pages again, the A through N half, and went to the end of the 'H' section. Running his finger down the page, he stopped it as soon as he saw the word 'Hydra'. He copied down the number and put it by the landline, a reminder to give it a call in the morning.

He binned the gown once and for all and retrieved his lunch boxes and pliers. He checked in on Bucky and smiled when he blinked his eyes open as Steve cast a shadow over him. He placed a hand on his cheek and pushed his hair behind his ear.

"I'm just gonna be in the room right next to this one if you need anything, okay?" He explained in a loud whisper. Bucky nodded, letting out a long and drawn out yawn that Steve couldn't help but think was too cute. "I'll leave the door open."

Steve woke up to his alarm, as per Monday, and slammed his hand on it. He stretched with a yawn, smiling when he remembered the previous night, when he remembered Bucky. Then he frowned when he recalled all the implications of his behaviour, and Hydra Homes on top of that. He checked in on Bucky before going about his business and decided to let him sleep for as long as possible, lord knows how long it had been since he'd slept in a warm bed.

After showering and getting dressed, Steve stood by the landline, wondering all the various possibilities of what would happen if he dialled that number. He swallowed the saliva in his mouth, picked up the phone and dialled the number.

 _Ring-ring_

 _Ring-ring_

 _Ring-ring_

"Hello, this is Hydra Homes Psychiatric Hospital. How may I help you?" A woman's voice asked cordially.

" _A psychiatric hospital?"_ Steve thought, a stone dropping deep into his stomach.

"A psychiatric hospital?" He vocalised.

"Yes," The voice replied. "we specialise in the treatment and rehabilitation of those with long-term mental disorders and ailments. What can I do for you, sir?"

Steve didn't answer. Instead his mouth just opened and closed, unsure of what to say or do.

"Ugh, sorry, I dialled the wrong number!" He slammed the receiver back on the hook and stepped back.

" _Bucky escaped from a psychiatric hospital!?"_ He thought. His immediate thought was that Bucky may be dangerous, but frankly, he'd never met a less intimidating person in his life. There was no way Bucky could put up a fight against a grown man, especially one built like Steve was. Hell, he was pretty sure that Miriam could handle the boy if they came to blows. Not that they ever would, Miriam would never raise a hand to someone like Bucky.

Without thinking much about it, Steve walked back up the stairs and into the spare room. He was still sleeping soundly, his posture rigid and straight. He mustn't have moved much at all during the night judging by how undisturbed the quilt was. This wasn't a dangerous person, not by any definition of the word.

Then he began to put the pieces together. If Bucky had learned all these strange behaviours, the inability to clean himself, the lack of independence, and the expectation to be used, as well as his shaven body and stunted growth, and he had come from a psychiatric hospital…

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it for a second longer. All he knew was that this boy couldn't ever go back there. Never.

Steve kneeled by the bed and shook one of Bucky's shoulders, deciding to jostle the boy awake. If he woke up and Steve was nowhere to be seen he might panic and try to leave. It would be best to wake him and explain what was going to happen.

His eyes snapped open. Before Steve could even get a "Good morning" out Bucky bolted up, pushed the covers away and crawled off the bed. He immediately went to the nearest corner, pulled the oversized shirt over his head, let the briefs fall to the floor, kicked them away and put his hands on the back of his head.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, quickly realising that this must be another learned behaviour of his.

"S-sorry!" He blurted out, trembling into the corner.

Steve felt a flare of anger surge through him. This kind of behaviour, this kind of disposition, could only mean terrible things for Bucky's daily life. What was he expecting to happen? What wrong did he think he committed? What was going through his head right at that moment? Why was he trembling naked in the corner just by being woken up? Steve would've given his left arm to know the answer.

"Bucky?" Steve said softly, approaching him and placing a reassuring hand on his back. "Why are you standing in the corner?" Bucky looked at him, a confused expression on his face, as if _not_ standing naked in the corner for apparently no reason would be the oddity.

"B-because, ins-inspection." Bucky answered. Fidgeting on his feet.

His feet. Steve remembered the sorry state Bucky's feet were in. He slowly picked him up, bridal style, yet Bucky still looked scared. He placed him on the bed and began to check his soles. The blisters were still there, but they seemed to be healing at least. Steve sighed and sat on the bed next to Bucky.

"I don't know what you mean by 'inspection', Buck, but I'm not going to ever make you strip down and stand in a corner for no good reason." He chuckled despite the situation. He needed to know more, only then could he help him break these learned behaviours. He'd start with this insane morning ritual. "What is an inspection, Bucky? What would happen? Can you explain it to me?" He looked down at him with a smile, hoping he didn't come across as invasive or aggressive.

"Inspection for, for bad hair," He poked at the hairless areas over his member and under his arms. "and for, if…" He blushed red, seemingly embarrassed. He closed his legs and pulled his knees to his chest.

"If?" Steve asked in a soft, reassuring voice.

"If I was…bad. I promise I wasn't bad while you were sleeping!" He looked scared again, and it broke Steve's heart once more.

"What's being bad, Bucky? If you want to tell me." Steve rubbed his hand up and down his back. "I won't be mad, not at all."

Slowly but surely, Bucky straightened his legs out and parted them again. He didn't say anything, he just reached a timid hand down and wrapped his fist around his limp member, moved it up and down a couple times and immediately let go again.

"Oh." Steve's cheeks blushed a light pink. "That's, ahem, it's okay if you want to do that, as long as you clean up after yourself." He never thought that he would ever need to give someone permission to pleasure themselves, not once in his whole life. Then again, he'd never met anyone like Bucky before.

Bucky looked at him with a look of apprehension. "Trick?" He asked, a bitter bite to the word.

"No." Steve said, thinking that maybe he had been given 'permission' before. "No trick at all, I promise."

Bucky still looked unsure.

"Now, how about you get dressed again and we go have some breakfast?" Steve asked, his mood lightening when Bucky beamed at him.

Steve thought about what Bucky would eat, or what would be best for him. Did he have allergies, or any intolerances? Would a certain food upset his stomach? He seemed to be able to handle baked goods, potatoes, veg and meat without much issue. He's already had butter and milk without any problems so he definitely wasn't lactose-intolerant.

"Bucky?" Steve asked as he stood by the hob. "Are they any foods you can't eat, or you get sick if you eat them?"

Bucky had a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before shaking his head. Steve nodded at him and decided to be quite plain, just to be safe. A bacon and cheese toastie and a glass of orange juice sounded good. It was well received, though Bucky did burn his mouth a little on the melted cheese.

"Alright," Steve said as he cleaned the plates. "I'm going to have to go downstairs for a while to work. I'll be there for most of the day but I will come back up to check on you a couple of times, okay?" He sat across from Bucky, hoping he would be able to be by himself for a while. He didn't necessarily want to do it but he needed to work, and he couldn't just dump everything on his employees. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

Bucky nodded, a little unsure but not wanting to disappoint.

Steve told him that he could stay in the sitting room, the kitchen or his room if he wanted. He also made sure to tell him that he could use the facilities whenever he needed. If the night before was any indication he needed to be told that.

As Steve was kneading dough he wished he had a television to put Bucky in front of for a while, at least then he'd have something to entertain himself. He doubted any of his books would interest him. On that thought he wondered if he could even read. Would he have been taught in Hydra Homes? Would he have gone in there late enough to have learned beforehand?

At noon he went on his lunch break and checked in on Bucky. He had been lying on his bed, asleep again, with his hand down his briefs. He seemingly took Steve's words to heart. Steve was about to leave and let him be until he heard the bedsprings moan. He looked over his shoulder and saw Bucky looking at him with drooped eyes. He yawned and stretched, standing with a wince.

"Are your feet feeling any better?" Steve asked, holding his hand out. Bucky nodded and patted over to him, taking his hand. "A pair of socks would be better than going barefoot, eh?" Steve put a pair of his winter socks on the boy, that went up to just under his knees, but they were thick and warm and that's all that mattered.

Steve decided to make a lunch of beans on toast for both of them, an ill thought out affair that ended up with stains on Bucky's Union Jack shirt and black briefs. He wasn't ready for the spoon after all. Steve smiled at him to let him know that everything was okay and put the dirtied clothes in the wash basket.

In only a pair of thick socks, Bucky sat on Steve's bed as the man rummaged through his drawers for something else he might be able to wear. He had quickly realised that everything he owned was too big for Bucky. Any pants were too long, shorts were too wide, and belts didn't have holes far enough to loop tight around his waist. Steve at least put him in one of his white shirts, which looked more like a gown on him but it was better than having him go around naked. It went down to his knees, so paired with the socks it almost looked like a semi-proper outfit. Almost. Now that he thought about it, Bucky looked kind of like an altar-boy, much like Steve had in his youth.

After going to the bank and working for another few hours, Steve closed the café and brought some leftovers to the shelter. Miriam smiled at him as she took the bags of goods.

"Anyone else eating out of your bins?" She asked. Steve chuckled and shook his head, not liking that he had to lie to her, but he didn't exactly want Bucky to be public knowledge yet. Not if he really was an escapee from a psychiatric hospital.

When he walked back up the stairs to his apartment he called out for Bucky. He got no immediate answer. He frowned, thinking that maybe he'd gone back to sleep. He checked the bedrooms, then the living room and finally the kitchen, where he heard a faint whimpering coming from behind the door.

There he was, curled in on himself, shaking like a leaf.

"Bucky?" Steve said, crouching down to his level. He looked up, the sight of him breaking Steve's heart. His cheeks were tear streaked and his eyes puffy. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry!" He blurted, startling Steve. He didn't back away though, he instead placed a hand on his knee and coaxed him to come out of his hidey hole. He was reluctant and seemed to flinch away from Steve's touch.

"Sorry." He said again, sounding so miserable and scared that Steve was beginning to become fearful himself.

" _Was someone here?"_ He asked himself, wondering what could possibly cause such a reaction from Bucky.

"It's okay." Steve soothed, moving his hand to Bucky's cheek and wiping away a tear. "Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise." He smiled at him, wanting to be as reassuring as humanly possible. With Steve's help, Bucky got to his feet, holding his frame with shaking arms and knocking knees.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Steve asked, wanting to do whatever was needed to make Bucky happy again.

"S-sorry." He mewled again, slurring the S. He pointed to the kitchen table, looking away from Steve as he did. He frowned. Nothing seemed amiss, everything looked perfectly ordinary to him. He walked over, examining the surface to see if maybe there was something he was missing. There wasn't, everything was in its place, completely untouched since the lunch earlier on. It was only as he went to the other side of the table did he see what was worrying Bucky.

"Oh." He said, glancing at the shattered glass and puddle of orange juice that decorated the floor. "Is this what's worrying you, Buck?" Steve asked, holding his hand out to him. Looking scared for his life, Bucky sauntered over, looked at the mess and let out a sob.

Steve felt an almost demoralising pity for Bucky. All he did was break a glass, something so trivial and insignificant, and yet here he was, trembling with fear out of what he thought would be dire consequences. How long had he been like this? How long ago did Bucky break the glass and begin fearing Steve's potential wrath? How long had he left Bucky in such a state while going about his day as if nothing were wrong?

Steve placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders, got to a knee and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping both arms around his chest. He could feel him tremble. He could feel his heartbeat. He could feel his warmth.

"It's okay, Buck." He whispered, moving one hand to the back of his head. "You were scared because the glass broke, right?" He asked, rubbing circles into his back. He felt Bucky nod against his chest, still not reciprocating the hug. "Well, you don't need to be. You didn't do it on purpose, right?" Bucky nodded again. "Then there's no need to be so scared." Steve let out a small chuckle to try and lighten Bucky's mood. "It's just a glass, nothing more, nothing less. Do you know how many glasses I've broken in my life?" He felt Bucky shake his head. "Lots, lots and lots. I've broken glasses, cups, plates and saucers. It's no big deal. Besides, you never have to be scared of me, not like this. I'll never hurt you."

He pulled away, keeping his arms around the boy and looking into his eyes. He looked confused more than anything. Was he not at all familiar with the concept of leniency? _"Probably not."_ Steve thought sourly, though he didn't let his feelings show.

"B-but, I-I broke…" Bucky whimpered. "I, I'm bad!" He tried to pull away from Steve, but his arms were too strong to struggle away from.

"No you're not." Steve said with a deep, authoritative voice, one that startled Bucky and ceased his escape attempt. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bucky, you made a simple mistake and you don't need to be so scared about it." The conflicted look on his face made Steve want to rage. What degree of scum were the people in Hydra Homes that this innocent person was so perplexed by the idea of himself being good?

Bucky shook his head, the tears not flowing as hard as they had before. "I, I'm bad." He said, still tinged with fear. "P-punish." He said, wringing his fingers together.

"Bucky," Steve sighed, needing him to understand that he wasn't in trouble. After a moment of silence, Steve began to think about the whole thing. Fear and punishment had been part of Bucky's life before he met Steve, a rather unjust part by the looks of things, and for Steve to just do away with that whole thing in one fell swoop must be a confusing concept to Bucky. He exhaled, deciding to try a different approach to the whole thing.

"Okay," Steve said in a level voice. "What kind of punishment would you get before?" He asked, wanting to know the degree of evil he'd been subjected to before.

"F-first, spank." Bucky said, gulping. "Then, b-b-b-blue chair when I'm very bad."

Steve saw a spark of fear blitz through Bucky's eyes at the mere mention of the 'blue chair'. He cringed to imagine what it could be.

"What's the blue chair?" Steve asked, using his soft voice again. Bucky looked up at him with fear, raised up his balled hands and pressed them against his temples.

"Buzz!" He snapped, making Steve's jaw slacken.

Electroshock-therapy was one of the last things he wanted to hear. He knew treatment had its medical uses in certain situations, but he doubted Bucky ever received the treatment with that sentiment in mind, especially if it was used as a punishment.

"Okay," Steve said, unsure of how to continue. "I'm never going to do that to you, never." Steve hated that he had to do this, but he had to ween Bucky off of his old lifestyle somehow. Like kicking a bad addiction, he needed to start small and then phase it out altogether. "But you will get a spanking." He needed to make it seem as if he were doing this because it was what would've happened regardless and not because it was what Bucky thought would happen. It shouldn't be too hard to do, he'd been spanked himself a couple of times when he was young by his mother and caned more than a few times in school. He cringed at the thought of the Carmelite Nuns and their torturous canes. 'The Gestapo in drag' he heard them be called once, and he agreed. He had spanked a person once before, though he didn't think an experiment in foreplay with Peggy counted. Besides, it didn't really do anything for either of them.

That declaration seemed to calm Bucky down a bit. He wasn't as tense and he seemed less panicked. That pissed Steve off, the fact that he needed to be punished for something so minor just to calm down was wrong on so many levels Steve could barely stomach it.

He took Bucky into his arms and brought him up to his own room. After being set down again, the boy pulled off his too-large shirt, folded it and set it down, leaving him in only his fluffy socks. Steve didn't like how subdued he was about the whole thing after being so hysterical initially. He'd feared Steve's potential rage more than the prospect of a spanking, something that was the reverse for him as a child. His mother's anger had been docile and short-lived. Her wooden spoon on the other hand, he felt _its_ rage for days.

Steve sat on the bed with his legs spread, standing Bucky between them. He held his face in both hands and wiped away the tracks of tears, giving him a soft smile to try and reassure him. He saw no point in delaying the process any further and bent Bucky over his left leg so his upper half was secure on the bed.

"This won't take very long." He said, raising his flattened palm. He brought it down with a snap, a loud _**CLAP**_ bouncing around the room, accompanied by a yelp from Bucky.

"One." The boy said miserably, making Steve want to stop with that single pink handprint on Bucky's right buttock, yet he knew that if he wanted Bucky to get any closure about the incident he'd have to go further. He raised his hand again, another _**CLAP**_ sounding as palm met butt-cheek, the left one this time.

"Two." Bucky vocalised.

This went on until Bucky counted up to "Tenty!", Steve landing "Tenty-one!" across both cheeks.

He looked at his handiwork across Bucky's quivering rear-end. He'd put up minimal resistance during the whole thing, a jolt of the hips here and there but no throwing of hands back to block or any attempts to jump away. He just lay there and took it with no fight in him at all. That saddened Steve. Either he had learned the hard way to not try and fight it or he was used to more harsh punishments. Both, probably.

Those pink handprints had darkened to a light red and were warm to touch. Steve stood Bucky up on his shaking legs, ignored his erection and pulled him in for another hug. This time he hugged Steve back.

"I hope I won't have to do that again." He whispered, meaning every word of it. He hoped this would be the last time he needed to do such a thing, but he knew that kicking a habit took time. All he could pray for was that Bucky wouldn't get into the mental state where he felt he needed to be spanked ever again, though he knew it was a flimsy, hollow hope.

He draped the shirt over Bucky again, took him by the hand, led him downstairs, cleaned up the shattered glass and juice and made dinner, spaghetti bolognaise with garlic bread, this time making sure to wrap a bib around Bucky's neck as to not have a repeat of the earlier mess. A dessert of warm apple tart and vanilla ice-cream went down well.

Bucky was being so careful the whole time, obviously not wanting to make a mess again. The concentrated look on his face warmed Steve's heart and almost made him want to pinch his cheeks. Speaking of, he was glad to see that the spanking wasn't so bad as to make sitting uncomfortable for Bucky, but every now and then he caught him rubbing the sting away, something he stopped as soon as he saw Steve looking.

With nothing else to do, Steve sat on his couch, a cup of tea on the coffee table and a book in hand. He seated himself comfortably, legs drawn up and blanket ready. Bucky stood there, unsure what to do with himself. Steve saw this and beckoned him over, patting the seat next to him and lifting up the blanket.

Bucky beamed at him, taking the seat and sitting as close to Steve as humanly possible. He was warm, Steve noted, and saw that he was content to just lean against the bigger man. When Steve brought his legs onto the couch to lie down he shifted Bucky to lay on his chest, barely able to handle how he curled into him. It reminded Steve of a cat, a rather silent and clingy cat. He was happy to see that Bucky wasn't as nervous around him anymore and was willing to be so close.

It wasn't until Steve bookmarked a page about a third of the way through his book that he noticed that Bucky had fallen asleep on him. He couldn't help but smile. He very carefully set the book down and slipped out from under Bucky, leaving him on the couch while he brought his tea-cup into the kitchen. After making sure all of the plugs were out and all of the lights were off, he took Bucky into his arms again and brought him upstairs.

He was about to walk into the spare room and lay Bucky down in that bed, but he paused. He looked into his own room, saw the side of the bed he never slept in, Peggy's side. He looked at Bucky, then at the spare bed, then his own bed. He closed the door to the spare room, turned and walked into his own. He pulled back the covers and lay Bucky on the forgotten side. After making sure he was comfortable, he pulled off Bucky's thick socks, not wanting his feet to suffocate through the night. He stripped to his boxers and lay down on the other side, draping his arm across as usual, only this time, there was someone there for it to lie on.

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 **Thank you all for reading, please let me know what you think of Steve and Bucky's relationship thus far. Is Bucky too cute or what? Is Steve too caring or nah? Let me know with a review :D**


	4. A Good Decision

**Chapter 4: A Good Decision**

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 **I really don't know what to say for myself. It's been almost eight months since I uploaded chapter 3. I finished my second year of college in the time it took me to get this chapter out. I have been really busy, and I did write other things in this time, but I just never had the urge to finish this chapter until this point. I just hope you all enjoy it after this wait. Thank you :)**

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Steve's alarm blared him awake. He swung his arm around, slamming it silent, sat up and stretched. A shuffling to his right made him snap his head around, thinking, for an instant, that Peggy was lying in the bed beside him again. Once the world came into focus around him he remembered that it wasn't his wife next to him, it was Bucky. Steve smiled as he yawned and rubbed his eyes as he woke up, looking more like a child than a young adult, especially with such unruly bedhead.

"Morning, Buck." He said, brushing Bucky's hair behind his ears. He yawned in response. "You can go back to sleep if you want, I'll call you when breakfast is ready." Bucky looked at him, eyes lidded heavily and struggling to be kept open. Without another word he plopped his head back onto the pillow and was snoring in seconds.

Steve went about his usual morning routine, deciding that today would be the day that Bucky would get some clothes of his own. Sure, a pair of fluffy socks and one of Steve's shirts would do for around the house for now, but it would get ridiculous at a point. He wouldn't be able to easily splash out on an entire wardrobe for him, but something of everything would be doable. A pair of pyjamas, some lounging clothes, maybe a pair of jeans or two for going out, t-shirts and underwear of course. No brand names, he wouldn't even get those for himself.

It was a little passed noon, after they'd had lunch, when Steve got out the old sewing kit and fished out the tailor's tape measure. He had Bucky stand on a kitchen chair, stripped his oversized shirt off and took his measurements. Just the waist, legs, chest and arms, everything he'd need to know to get some good-fitting clothes.

When Bucky turned away from him to climb down from the chair he could see the handprints he left on his rear-end the night before. Steve felt a bolt of guilt zap through his chest. It was quickly replaced by rage, a fierce red rage aimed entirely at Hydra Homes and the untold atrocities done behind their doors. He closed his eyes and forced the thoughts away, focusing on Bucky and how delighted he'd be to get some clothes.

After depositing his money in the bank, Steve went to the nearby Salvation Army, a great place to get some second-hand clothes for cheap. There weren't many people there, as expected on a Tuesday afternoon.

Thankfully, everything was organised by size, so finding some pants that wouldn't fall down Bucky's waist wasn't difficult. A pair of denim jeans, tracksuit-pants, chinos and dungarees he couldn't resist were all he could find in Buck's size, but they would do nicely. T-shirts were more plentiful, two plain whites, a black one, one with a picture of Garfield on it and a long-sleeved, navy one were enough he judged. He had spotted one with the Irish Tricolour emblazoned across it, considered buying it but thought better of it. He also picked up a pair of winter gloves and a beanie for Bucky, seeing as it was autumn and winter would only be even colder.

On his way to the till he spotted a pair of runners that seemed to be in really good nick. He had forgotten to measure Bucky's foot-size, but they looked like they'd fit if his memory wasn't decrepit yet. He tried to picture Bucky's feet in relation to his hand, recalling when he washed them. Satisfied, he paid, bagged the clothes and left.

He made the ten-minute walk to Marks & Spencer, where he picked up some briefs, socks, slippers, a dressing gown and a pack of vests. Everything he'd need.

He was beaming when he walked back into the café, as noted by Shirley, to which he responded with a curt wink and a smile. Bucky had been waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting on the far side of the table so he could see the instant Steve walked back into the apartment.

Bucky was beaming at him, a broad smile nearly splitting his face. Steve smiled back, getting excited himself. He couldn't wait to see Buck's reaction to his new gifts.

"Evening, Buck." He said, laying the bags down on the kitchen table. "I have something for you, but first you should probably go shower." Bucky nodded, looking even happier than before.

Of course, Steve had to help him do it, but he seemed to want to do more of it himself, which Steve allowed. After drying, Bucky sat at the head of the bed with his eyes closed tight, practically bouncing with anticipation as the bags of clothes were brought up the stairs. Steve spilled the clothes onto the bed and told Bucky to look. He seemed confused at first, looking from the pile, then to Steve and back to the pile again.

"They're for you." Steve explained, picking up the pack of vests and holding it out for Bucky to take. His eyes widened, those words striking something within him.

"Th-th-th-thank you!" Bucky stammered, taking the vests in one hand and reaching out to the pile with the other, unsure of what to pick up next.

"You're very welcome." Steve chuckled, taking the pack of briefs and opening it. "Maybe we should start with these, hm?" Bucky nodded, leaping off the bed and using Steve as a balance as he lifted a leg into the briefs. He couldn't help but admire himself in the mirror, finally having some clothes to call his own.

Steve continued to dress him, putting one of the white t-shirts on him as well as the tracksuit pants. Wearing something that actually fit him made Bucky look a bit older. Not quite twenty-one, but also not the child he was before, more of a scrawny teenager than anything else.

"They look very good on you." Steve commented, standing behind Bucky as he viewed himself, turning to look at every angle. Steve couldn't help but smile. He couldn't imagine Bucky had gotten many gifts before, given his previous "home's" current track record.

Bucky blushed over his smile, turned around and wrapped his arms around Steve, his tightest grasp barely phasing the man. "Thank you so much!"

He returned the gesture, nuzzling Bucky's hair as he did so. "You're very welcome."

Days passed and Steve was delighted to see that Bucky was becoming much more comfortable in the house. He was still excited whenever Steve came in from work and was always careful not to do anything that he thought would anger Steve. The man began to imagine how bored Bucky must be every day, just waiting for him to finish up with the café. He didn't have a TV so he couldn't just plop him down in front of that, and he wasn't sure he could read either. When he found out that was the case he made it his mission to teach him how to read. They spent an hour after lunch and an hour before bed at it every day, and every day Bucky made progress. Steve noticed that Bucky began speaking more and more since they began their lessons, no longer was he only speaking when spoken to and tried to start conversations with Steve now.

They'd slept in the same bed every night since the first time, and Steve didn't have any intention of sending Bucky back into the spare room. It was very comforting to have someone on the other side of the bed, especially as the nights got colder. More often than not he found that he'd moved in the night and pulled Bucky into a warm embrace. It reminded him of when he shared his bed with Peggy, and that was a feeling he was in no rush to get rid of. Bucky seemed to enjoy it to, seeing as he always pouted when Steve got up in the morning. One Sunday he was so comfortable in his position that he decided not to go to church, a choice that came with a bit of guilt later in the day, but he would be forgiven this indulgence he imagined. Just being together, him in only his boxers and Bucky in an oversized t-shirt, filled him with such nostalgia that he needed to indulge, even just once.

Steve decided that Sunday would be a lazy day, one where he didn't leave the house at all and spent it all with Bucky. They dressed comfortably when they were both awake. Steve made pancakes for breakfast, made sickly sweet with a slathering of Nutella. They continued their reading lessons, Bucky picking it up faster and faster each day. Steve was glad that he didn't start with absolutely no knowledge, just a little bit to build off of.

To pass the time, Steve decided to teach Bucky some card games. Nothing complicated, just simple things like Snap and Go-fish. Bucky seemed to love them, so Steve decided that he'd teach him more and more games as time went by.

Around 21:30, both Bucky and Steve started to get tired. The latter decided that they'd both bathe before bed. He ran the bath for them, making sure the temperature was to Bucky's liking, and stripped off his clothes, throwing them into the wash basket. When he turned to face Bucky, the boy was blushing deep red. Steve supposed he wouldn't have had many opportunities to see him in the nude as he was asleep more often than not as Steve got ready for the day.

Snapping out of his stupor, Bucky removed his clothes too, leaving them where Steve had and joined him in the tub. Steve smiled, glad that Bucky wasn't as gaunt as when they'd first met. He could no longer count all of his ribs just by looking at them.

The bath wasn't made for the length of two people, Steve and Peggy learned that years ago, so the only way to accommodate them both was for Bucky to lie on top of Steve, something neither of them really minded. Bucky was content to lay there, embraced lovingly by Steve and warmly by the bathwater. The heat and warm smells almost made him melt away. Steve could say much of the same, Bucky's weight acting as a comfort on top of him. The close feeling of someone's skin up against his was one he sorely missed. The intimacy was something he craved, to hold someone when both you and they were so vulnerable, it was one of the joys of life in his opinion. For nearly an hour they lay together, neither needing to speak a word to each other.

Steve only opened his eyes when he felt Bucky stir. He looked down and the reason for his stirring made Steve's cheeks go a dusty red. He saw Bucky trying to conceal an erection from Steve. When Bucky noticed Steve looking at him, his hands went to cover his furiously red face. Steve chuckled. He couldn't help but think that the whole scene was ridiculously adorable. He could feel it poking his abdomen, but he wasn't bashful at all. He'd seen Bucky naked many times, most days in fact, and more than once had he been sporting a stiffy. He'd even walked in on Bucky pleasuring himself a couple of times. He'd thought little of it, only a man relieving stress in one of the few ways he knew how, and the lord knew that Bucky deserved stress relief, but Steve would be lying if he said that it wasn't quite a scene to walk in on.

He'd known for many years that his attractions went beyond the bounds of heterosexuality. Many a man had caught his eye in his youth, as well as women, it just happened that when it came to falling in love, it was a woman who snagged his heart.

Perhaps Bucky was the same as him, Steve pondered. Or maybe because of the environment he was in, he didn't know what attraction really was. That thought both saddened and infuriated Steve.

The man sat up, crossed his legs as best he could and placed Bucky on his lap.

"There's no need to be embarrassed." Steve cooed, gently moving Bucky's hands away from his face. "It's perfectly okay, remember?"

Bucky nodded slowly, unsure of what to do with his hands so he just wringed them together. Steve glanced down and saw the head of Bucky's penis sticking out of the surface of the water. It almost made his throat go dry. He felt a surge go through his own loins, and a wild thought crossed his mind.

"Bucky," He spoke barely above a whisper. "if you want, I'll take care of it for you?" He said, the furious blush reddening his cheeks only intensifying Steve's stirring. Slowly, Bucky nodded, moaning when Steve's fingers brushed over his head and down his shaft, holding his entire member in one fist. Steve began to stroke Bucky, knowing the right ways to pull and squeeze.

Bucky squirmed and jolted in Steve's lap, finally bringing the man's own member to life. By the time Bucky orgasmed into Steve's fist, the bigger man was almost ready to burst himself.

Bucky leaned into Steve, breathless. Steve didn't let go of Bucky's limp member until his own went down, and by that time the water had become lukewarm. Standing both of them up, Steve drained the tub and rinsed them both down.

After drying, they both went into their room and got ready for bed. Steve decided to sleep nude for the first time since summer, and Bucky decided to copy him. With the room only lit by the dim street-lights from outside, the pair fell asleep staring into each other's eyes.

When he woke up, Steve found himself spooning Bucky again. It was Monday, so he knew he'd have to get up and go to work, but he was so goddamn comfortable where he was. Cursing silently, he pried himself away from Bucky and went about his usual morning routine. The day went by without anything extraordinary happening, Bucky didn't seem to have what happened last night on his mind, but Steve certainly did. He wondered if it was wrong for him to do such a thing. Bucky didn't have a proper knowledge of what such a thing meant, his perspective was warped and damaged. Steve couldn't help but feel guilty and wondered if he'd taken advantage of him.

That night after dinner, Steve was sitting in the sitting room reading a book when Bucky came in and cuddled next to him. It was nothing unusual, he did it most nights and Steve was happy to have him there. Things took a strange turn when Bucky placed his hand on Steve's crotch. Steve had to bite his lip from yelling out.

"Buck?" He asked, looking down at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I just wanted…wanted to…give back to you, for last night." He answered, blushing.

Steve fought with himself internally. On one hand, the carnal hand, he would let Bucky do as he would without much hesitation, but on the other hand, the more moral of the two, Bucky didn't understand the implications of such a thing.

"Are, are you sure you want to, Bucky?" Steve asked, setting his book aside.

Bucky nodded, his eyes showing no hint of doubt.

Steve sighed.

"Okay." He said in a barely audible whisper. He shifted his hips and lowered his pants just enough to free his member. He let his arms rest on the back of the couch as Bucky grasped him, stroking and squeezing until it hardened to its full length. Steve threw his head back and moaned lowly, resisting the urge to thrust into Bucky's hands.

Thoughts of Peggy flashed through his mind, thoughts of the times they lay together as man and wife, her perfect figure, her milky breasts, her supple skin that he could practically feel against his fingertips. Unbidden, his thoughts then flashed to the night before, the warmth he felt when holding Bucky close, the feel of his cock in Steve's hand, his sight of his bubbly rear-end, the way his breath sped-up as he climaxed. It all fuelled him.

Wordlessly, Steve came, his semen leaking down his shaft, coating Bucky's fingers and staining the waistband of his pants.

He brought a hand to Bucky's cheek, cupped it, and looked him in the eyes. He leaned forward, questioning everything as he did. Was this okay? Was this right? In the end, he didn't care. The feel of Bucky's lips on his was something he didn't know he wanted before, something he needed. Bucky didn't move or shy away. Instead, he pushed into it.

In bed, long after Bucky fell asleep, Steve couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done that day. Should he be doing such a thing? Bucky was damaged, emotionally and physically. Could he really judge what was best for himself, could he really say if he knew that Steve was good for him? Steve could ask, he knew that, but a part of him feared, despite everything, that Bucky was still fearful of him, fearful to disappoint or go against Steve. He was only so open to doing such intimate things in the first place because he'd no-doubt been raped before, and probably thought such things were a normal part of everyday life, things as natural as eating or going for a walk.

Steve let Bucky curl into him when they slept, it was comforting to have him there, and he looked so peaceful like that, so unburdened and free. Steve only wanted for that to be true for Bucky's every waking moment, he deserved it after everything else he'd been through, all the things he told Steve about and the things he hadn't. Was it so wrong that he wanted to be the reason for Bucky to be happy.

Steve let one of his hands roam down Bucky's back, feeling the ridges of his spine all the way to the tailbone. Breathing lightly, he ran his hand over Bucky's soft, fleshy cheek, his fingertips grazing along the crack. He let it rest there, gently kneading the flesh.

He wanted that moment to last forever, for Bucky to remain in his arms, to be warmed and comforted by his embrace, to be safe there for the rest of their lives. He decided there and then that he was going to do whatever it took to make that happen.

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 **Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, if it was worth the wait, if it was enjoyable and whatnot. I', particularly curious to know what you all think of Steve's internal dilemma.**


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